


Every Step Every Way

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, and dancing, fitzsimmons flirting, let's get it onnnnnn, smut-ish?, they have no chill, unsure if m rating is necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitzsimmons haven’t had a moment alone since Romania and they are getting ANTSY.  Or, in which Fitzsimmons continue to have no chill. Shortly after getting Daisy back, the younger agents go out for a night on the town and Fitzsimmons just can't keep their hands to themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Step Every Way

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by and titled after [ Every Step Every Way ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJ57IM3fLdg) by Majid Jordan. I recommend listening to that first to set the ~mood~
> 
> I was planning this before last night's frickfrack but now it just works even better... 
> 
> I've never written anything beyond sweet kisses so.... feedback please!! This isn't smut per se - like no one's doing the sex - so i was unsure about the rating but... it's meant to be smutty.

Jemma Simmons does not know why she feels particularly sexy tonight. But sitting at the bar in the darkened club with legs crossed and one heel tucked over the rung of her stool, only half a beer in, there is already a coiling sensation in her lower stomach, a heat across the exposed skin of her upper chest, and a slight smirk to her pursed lips. Every time she brings the bottle to her lips, it feels like the most sensuous thing she’s ever done and she can’t help but bite her bottom lip. She’s surprised to find all the men and women in the club _not_ staring at her. 

She knows the heightened awareness brought on by alcohol is an illusion, but she intends to savor it while it lasts. And she knows that the intense anticipation _might_ have something to do with the fact that her boyfriend is about to walk into the club and that after a week of non-stop missions and sleeping upright in Quinjet seats they are finally off the clock for the first time since Romania. 

They have just gotten Daisy back, and though she has physically recovered, her guilt and shame towards her teammates is immense. So tonight, while Coulson and May hold down the fort at the safe house, the younger agents are taking Daisy out, experiencing the nightlife of Berlin during their stopover. Jemma had dinner with her mother’s cousin, who lives in the city, and has arrived at the club - a chic, long room with a low, arched ceiling lined with dim lights, accessible only by an unmarked door under a bridge - ahead of the others. Which is to say her... excitement for them, or for a specific member of their party, to arrive has had time to ratchet up several degrees. 

They finally show up - Lincoln, Daisy, Mack, Elena, Joey, and Fitz - and migrate through the crowd to the tables at the far end without seeing her. She hops from her stool and strides to them, walking up to Fitz and standing much too close, almost level with him in her heels. “Dance with me,” she says with no preamble, halfway between a plea and a command. The others catcall and whoop, but she’s past caring. 

“Jemma,” he stutters, looking terrified. 

Breaking his gaze, she lifts a hand to her ponytail and pulls out the elastic, letting down her hair and tossing her head slightly from side to side to shake it out. She hangs the elastic on one of his outstretched, immobile fingers, and turns her back on him. Wending her way away from him - if her hips shift more than normal when she walks, it’s almost certainly because of the heels and no effort on her part - she works her way onto the dance floor, not even checking to see if he has followed. 

He hasn’t, she ascertains when she finally turns from amidst the hot press of bodies and spies him still standing there, hand outstretched, mouth slightly open. 

Rolling her eyes, she begins to dance anyway. That is what she wants right now, to move, to be touched, to feel alive, and she will enjoy herself with or without him. 

A man starts dancing with her from behind, attempting to grind against her. She shudders despite her apparent arousal but sees an opportunity, pivoting them both slowly so that as the man thrusts against her awkwardly she can lock eyes with Fitz. Even from here, she can see his eyes darken, his chest heave, and she holds his gaze as she tilts her head back against the man behind her, arches her back slightly and bites her lip, a clear challenge. 

_Why is he just standing there?_

With a frustrated huff, she spins and pushes the man away so she can dance by herself again. Her excitement has begun to falter, tinged with self-doubt, even after everything that’s happened. 

But this time it is only a moment before he is behind her. She knows it is him, even without turning - she has a flash of thought to a book she read once, about the split-second assessments humans make, and she remembers thinking it was rubbish, though maybe she should reread it -- but she only has a second of coherent thought before he steps forward, pushing himself completely flush against her. 

Jemma stifles a gasp and waits for more contact, but he doesn’t reach out to touch her in any other way. Though her fingers itch to reach back and bring his hands to her sides, she smirks to herself. Even in this arena of their relationship they are competitive. 

Neither of them are dancers, but that’s hardly a concern at this point. She experimentally begins to shift side to side slightly, achingly slow, with every other beat of the throbbing bass. The flap of stiff denim covering his fly rubs sharply against her ass with each pass. A shudder runs through Fitz’s chest behind her. She tilts her head so that her hair falls away to one side, leaving her neck exposed. His breath falls raggedly upon the sensitive skin.

At last his hands find her hips, the pressure stilling her for a moment before she resumes her movement but with more force. She reaches a hand back behind her, fingers sliding down through his hair until she grasps the back of his neck, pulling him down and closer and holding herself up. One of his hands slides in response to her stomach, his pinky tucking under the button of her jeans. 

She wants to turn to see his eyes but knows she will fall apart the moment she does. Her skin feels raw, every nerve ending on fire. His head dips to her neck and she is sure that at last he will kiss her, but he stops a hairsbreadth away and whispers, “You look flushed, Simmons. Are you nervous?” 

She won’t tell him - not until later that night, when her self-control is severely compromised - how his gravelly brogue affects her. She squeezes her thighs together, though from the way he groans slightly he clearly thinks she was pressing her ass further against him. Recognizing her advantage, she bends at the waist as she has seen other dancers do, making a slow half-circle through the air so that his press through his jeans becomes all the more obvious against her. Her hand on his neck brings him down with her slightly, and when she straightens they are closer than ever, if that were possible. 

“Only nervous you’ll come before either of us has a chance to do anything about it,” she murmurs over her shoulder. 

That does it. Nothing has been proven to make Fitz short-circuit quite like her forwardness. He spins her by a belt loop. “Can we go somewhere?” he asks shamelessly, pressing his forehead to hers, practically panting. 

She links a finger through the knot of his tie and pulls him behind her. They push through the floor-to-ceiling deep purple velvet curtains that separate the club from the bathroom hallway. She lets him go only so she can turn, thumping against the wall in her momentum. He is right behind her, a hand already on the tile next to her head, his lips finding hers first before the rest of his body rocks forward to meet hers. She tucks a foot around the back of his calf to pull him insistently towards her. One hand trails down the side of his head, tracing the sensitive skin behind his ear, while the other holds onto the shoulder of his outstretched arm for support while he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses just under her jaw. His hand finds the point where her thigh slopes into her ass and he lifts slightly, bringing her off the wall to meet him. When their mouths find each other again, they are both grinning, a mutual _I still can’t believe this is happening_. 

“Hey guys, we need to - aaagggh!” 

Mack spins away, one hand covering his eyes as he tangles in the curtains. Jemma lets her head fall back, regretfully, away from Fitz, but he holds her body against his as they look at their teammate, chests heaving against each other. 

“Daisy’s having a - She’s feeling a little overwhelmed, so we’re gonna take her back. Think it might be time for all of us to meet up with Coulson and May.”

“Coming!” Jemma says brightly. All three recognize the double entendre at the same moment and Fitz and Jemma collapse into each other laughing. Mack walks away, muttering, “God, I need a raise.” 

Jemma tilts her chin up at Fitz as he turns back to her. “I think I saw a business center on the first floor of our hotel which had a rather large couch.” 

“Hmm, I might have some tech to secure the lock and soundproof the room.” 

“ _Might_? You carry that with you everywhere?”

“You’re not the only one who excels at preparation.” 

Jemma isn’t sure she’s ever been this attracted to Fitz before.

**Author's Note:**

> The club in this piece was inspired by an actual club in Berlin - it really is behind an unmarked door under a bridge! I've been there and it made me feel way cooler than I actually was. Could be an aphrodisiac to two horny lil science babies.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! I'm grapehyasynth there as well.


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